It Ain't Goodbye Till I Say So
by we were here
Summary: You can't leave me now, Johnny. It ain't goodbye till I say so. - Dally visits Johnny in the hospital.


**Disclaimer: Don't own The Killers or The Outsiders.**

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****A/N: I've been wanting to write an Outsider fic ever since I found fanfiction, so I decided to wing it and came up with this little drabble. This one-shot is about Dallas visiting Johnny in the hospital.**

** I think I did a pretty good job about portraying Dally and Johnny in the short time-span of an hour, but if I didn't meet your expectations please let me know so I can fix it asap!**

**Flames are welcome!**

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_It's quiet now,_**

_**The universe is standing still.**_

_**And there's nothing I can say,**_

_**There's nothing we can do now.**_

_**And there's nothing I can say,**_

_**There's nothing we can do now…**_

"D-does it hurt, Johnny? The pain, I mean. It hurt?" Dallas shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair that was next to the hospital bed, wondering why the hell Johnny wasn't answerin' him. Dally would do anything just to get a response from Johnny, because Johnny was the only one that understood him, knew what he'd been through. It wasn't that Dally didn't trust the others, he just found a comfort in Johnny, a sense of security, yet it irked him whenever he thought about it.

Dallas Winston wasn't in love with Johnny Cade, but hell, he was pretty damn close to it.

"Does the pain hurt, Johnny?"

No response. It was only the same silent breaths that came from Johnny, so quiet that you had to hold yours just to hear his. Dally glanced at Johnny then for the third time since the last ten minutes, his lip quivering, eyes watering at the horrific sight.

Poor, little, innocent Johnny was scarred and bruised all over. His dark skin looked paler and greener, needles shoved into his wrists and forearms, making Dallas's stomach churn at the thought. Johnny had cuts on his arms and a long gash on his forehead; stitches had been given up on long ago, his head now wrapped up in a type of gauze, dirty from not being changed, black hair still sticking up, the only resemblance that Johnny was still Johnny. His eyes were bruised, lips were swollen and dry blood painted his cheeks, giving him a sick glow underneath the florescent lights that hung from the ceiling, swaying every so often.

Dallas blinked for a second, enveloping himself in complete blackness before he opened his eyes, the pity now gone, replaced by anger that flooded through his blood stream, pounded in his ears. "Johnny." Dally's voice broke then, but he didn't care; he kept going, gripping on the rail of the hospital bed with his hands, shaking it slightly.

"Johnny, answer me. _Please_." Dally growled quietly, shaking the rail a little harder, knuckles turning white.

Still, there was no response from Johnny, who lay sunken in the hospital bed, his too-thin body covered with the flimsy fabric of the off-white hospital gown.

"Fuck, Johnny, just-just say _somethin'_, anythin', please?" Dally's voice shook.

"I can't keep playin' this game no more, Johnny. It hurts too much. I just can't-" the older boy sniffed, wiping away a few tears that had trickled down his face with the back of his hand. He eased his grip on the railing, now talking in a slight whisper, impatient now, still furious.

"Johnny Cade, listen to me." Dally says with authority, bringing his cold and pale hand to shake Johnny's shoulder. Dally knew he wouldn't get a response from him if he kept pleading, so now he was being rough, shaking Johnny's shoulder, fighting pain with pain. To Dally, Johnny might as well have been dead by now. But Johnny kept fighting anyway, even though he was eventually going to lose anyhow. His heart would eventually stop beating; his breaths would become shortened and weak until they were muted, forever silenced by the closing of a coffin and the piles of dirt that would be thrown atop of him.

It wasn't Dallas's fault that Johnny was in the hospital. It wasn't Dallas's fault that Johnny was beaten up by his dad and ignored by his mother. It wasn't Dallas's fault that he'd confided in Johnny, and Johnny had just sat there in the lot under the moonlight, nodding his head at problem after problem that rolled off of Dally's tongue, silently agreeing. It wasn't Dallas's fault that Johnny was so young, that he was_ too _young. It wasn't Dallas's fault that Johnny was such a good goddamn listener. Hell, nothing was ever _his_ fault in Dallas's mind. Still, Dally blamed himself for everything that went wrong in Johnny's life, because he had no one else to blame it for.

"I'm gonna get you outta here, Johnnycake, just you wait," Dally muttered, starting to run a hand through his hair, laughing nervously. The younger boy still hadn't moved an inch throughout the hour-long visit, making Dallas clench his fists against the railing with such force that it almost broke. The only thing that stopped Dally from leaning over and pulling all those wires outta Johnny was the fact that it would hurt Johnny more than it would hurt himself.

Sighing, Dally removed his hands from the railing at yet another unsuccessful attempt to get Johnny to respond and leaned back into the stiff chair, hands shoved deep inside the pockets of his leather jacket. Fumbling around in his jacket pocket for a few minutes, Dally finally pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up and bringing it to a pair of chapped lips.

It didn't matter that Dallas wasn't allowed to smoke in the hospital. It didn't matter that nurses gave him dirty looks when they passed Johnny's room, grumbling to themselves as they pushed gurneys down the deserted hall, wheels clicking on the floor. It didn't matter anymore-none of it did.

But what _did_ matter right now was Johnny.

As Dally took a slow drag of the cigarette, propping his legs up on the end of the bed, letting the sweet smoke fill the air of the small room and travel down his throat into his lungs, he glanced down at the limp body that held more secrets than the stars in the sky.

"You can't leave me now, Johnny. It ain't goodbye till I say so."


End file.
